


Shut Up And Dance With Me

by FelOllie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Adopted Queen Roy Harper, Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelOllie/pseuds/FelOllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy's family thinks he needs to date more, Sara is a meddler, and things end up turning out way better than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut Up And Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a birthday present for my booboo, [Phenioxgirl](http://phenioxgirl.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Happy birthday love, I hope you enjoy your porny gift!
> 
> Title and inspiration from the song _Shut Up And Dance_ by Walk The Moon.

“Here, drink up.” Tommy says as he slides an overfull shot glass across the counter. He glances down at his watch, does some quick mental calculations and then looks up at Roy with an arched brow and cajoling tone, “Come on, sweet cheeks, take the edge off. Oliver will be home any minute.”

Roy rolls his eyes but tosses back the shot, regardless. He grimaces a bit as the cinnamon flavor explodes on his tongue, swallows thickly around the heat as it pours down his throat. 

“Remind me again why I let you two talk me into this?” 

Tommy smiles a knowing smile, all teeth and charm. “Because Oliver and I are family, and you know we wouldn't have suggested it if we didn't honestly believe it would be good for you.”

Roy snorts, refilling his glass. “Says the asshole who convinced me that I could fly if I launched myself from high enough.”

“I apologized for that.” Tommy says lightly, waving it off. “Besides, chicks dig injuries.”

“I was nine, Tommy!” Roy reminds him, laughing. “And I spent that entire summer with my leg in a cast.”

“That cast got you your first kiss, in case you've forgotten.” Tommy smirks, eyes twinkling. “I'd call that a win.”

The sound of the front door opening stops Roy's snarky response. He swallows it back with the chilled burn of the shot he poured, setting the glass down with a heavy thunk as Oliver steps into the kitchen, already tugging his tie free.

“Ten minutes.” he promises quickly, leaning in to plant a sweet hello kiss to Tommy's lips. 

“No rush,” Tommy assures, smiling at the way Oliver licks the lingering taste of cinnamon from his bottom lip, “Roy's stalling, anyway.”

Oliver turns questioning brows on him, working the button at the base of his throat open. “You backing out?”

“No.” Roy sighs, pushing a hand through his hair, mussing up the style Tommy had carefully molded it into. “Just... Nervous, I guess.”

“Don't be.” Oliver tells him, like it's something he can just turn off at will. “It's just a bunch of people hanging out, Roy. There's no pressure.”

“Easy for you to say, you've been coupled off since you were tweens.” Roy argues mildly, gesturing at a grinning Tommy. “And, you're not the one who's been getting thinly veiled innuendos via text all day.”

“Sara?” Tommy guesses.

“Who else?” Roy says, his tone bland. 

Oliver chuckles as he gives Roy's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Have we ever let Sara, or anyone else, make you do something you didn't want to do?”

Roy doesn't even have to think about his answer. After all, Oliver and Tommy have always been the saviors he didn't know he needed. 

 

*

 

After the car wreck that killed both of his parents, Roy had been taken in by his mother's only living relative; her half-brother, Robert. 

Five years old and mourning a loss he didn't truly comprehend, Roy arrived at Queen Manor with a teddy bear in his arms and tears in his eyes, a hole in his chest that all the tears in the world couldn't hope to fill. Overwhelmed and shivering with fear, he hadn't been able to lift damp eyes from the floor when Uncle Robert crouched low and spoke in a gentle, soothing tone. It only served to make Roy cry harder, clutch his teddy fiercely to his chest and sob. 

Roy spent two weeks in silence – barely eating, hardly sleeping, and hiding in the closet of his new bedroom the moment Uncle Robert or Aunt Moira took their eyes off of him. He only caught glimpses of his cousins in that time. Sometimes he heard their laughter in the hallway outside his bedroom door and dared to peek through the keyhole. 

It was two weeks and three days after his arrival that Roy was hiding in his closet, knees tucked up under his chin, his teddy squished against his chest. He was crying quietly, trying to keep silent so no one would hear him and think he was a baby. Only babies cried, he knew that. Billy Jenkins told him so at school when Roy had scraped his knee and it bled. Roy didn't want Uncle Robert to think he was a baby, not when he was supposed to be strong now. Babies weren't strong. 

Roy giggled a little, imagining a baby with big muscles.

“Roy?”

He stilled, tiny fingers digging into the fluff of his teddy as his eyes shot to the closet door, left open just a crack to let light in. Roy bit his lips between his teeth, shrinking back into the shadows as much as he could.

“Roy?” he heard again. It was a boy, Roy thought, listening to the sound of feet getting closer to his hiding spot. 

The door creaked open, the sliver of light on the floor growing until it filled the space. Roy crammed his eyes shut, a small whimper in his throat that he didn't know how to control.

“Hey,” the boy said softly, “it's okay, Roy, I'm not gonna hurt you.”

Slowly, without releasing his iron grip on teddy or lifting his head, Roy peeked through his eyelashes. He found the boy crouching low in front of him, the light behind him too bright to really see his face.

“I'm Oliver.” the other boy told him, his voice kind and carrying the curve of a smile Roy couldn't see. “I'm your big cousin.”

Roy didn't speak, couldn't find his voice.

“Can I turn the light on?” Oliver asked gently, “Don't tell anyone, but I'm kind of afraid of the dark still.”

Roy, awed to hear a big boy confess to being afraid of anything at all, nodded numbly. 

The light clicked on overhead, soft yellow light flooding the closet. Roy blinked a few time to right his eyes, then cautiously let his gaze find Oliver. The other boy was sinking to the carpeted floor, crossing his legs under him so he wasn't touching Roy.

“That's better.” he grinned warmly, his big blue eyes shining with nothing but warmth. 

His dark blonde hair was on the longish side, combed back and parted on one side. Oliver was six years older than him, Uncle Robert had said, and Roy had a hard time imagining that, but Oliver sure looked older.

“Hi.” Oliver smiled, filling in the silence Roy left. “You doing okay in here?”

Roy shrugged, fidgeting with his teddy's paw.

“It's okay if you don't wanna talk,” Oliver assured, “we can still hangout if you want. My friend Tommy is coming over and we're gonna play tag in the garden. Thea is too little to play with us, but you can if you wanna.”

Roy gnawed the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking down to the floor.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Oliver shoved his hand into his pocket, withdrawing an orange package that Roy recognized. “I know where Raisa hides the candy.” he shrugged with a grin, holding the peanut butter cups out. 

Roy hesitated, but the desire for chocolate outweighed his nervousness and he reached out to accept the candy. “Thanks.” he whispered, voice tiny and rough with disuse.

Oliver's beaming smile was worth it. “No problem.”

They sat together in quite for a while, Roy breaking his peanut butter cup in half and offering it to Oliver. They munched together, Roy relaxing the longer Oliver sat with him. Eventually, Oliver started talking about his life – His school, his friends, his best friend Tommy who was coming over to play. Oliver told Roy stories about his family, about his mom and dad and baby Thea, and how Roy was his new brother and how cool that was.

“I always wanted a brother.” Oliver confessed, scooting around so he was sitting beside Roy. “I mean, I have Tommy, but that's different. You actually get to live here and stuff. My dad says that Queen blood runs in your veins, just like me and Thea.” Roy glanced down at his arm, at the pale blue lines that matched the ones Oliver traced on his own forearm. “Queens stick together, Roy, okay? Me, you, and Thea – We're always gonna stick together.”

“Ollie?”

Roy shrank back again, cowering half behind Oliver. Oliver smiled indulgently, slung an arm around Roy's shoulders and pulled him into his side.

“It's okay, Roy, that's just Tommy.” Oliver promised, calling out a quick “In here!” before adding, “He's sort of a Queen, too.”

A dark haired boy about Oliver's age came careening around the corner, skidding to a stop just inside the closet door. He had blue eyes, just like Oliver, but Tommy's eyes were brighter, sparkling in his cherubic face. 

“Hey, what're you guys doing in here?” Tommy asked, his lips never losing their upward quirk. 

“Sneaking candy.” Oliver offered, his eyes glowing the longer they lingered on Tommy. “You wanna hang out with us?”

Tommy didn't even pause, just plopped down across from them and propped his face in his hands. “Hi,” he greeted, gaze steady but warm on Roy, “You're Roy, right? I'm Tommy Merlyn.”

“Tommy's dad works a lot.” Oliver said by way of explanation, his arm still firmly wrapped around Roy's shoulders. “So, he gets to stay here with us sometimes.”

“I like your teddy.” Tommy pointed to the bear still clasped tight to Roy's chest. “I have one like him, but mine is black instead of brown. You can play with him sometime, if you wanna.”

For the first time since the night his entire world got flipped over and scattered in the wind, Roy felt a real smile tug at his lips. 

 

*

 

By the time Roy, Oliver, and Tommy get to the club, it's packed. They don't have to wait at the door – perks of Oliver and Tommy owning the place – but there's hardly any room inside to move, much less dance, so they make straight for the bar. 

Leaning back with his elbows on the bar, Roy takes in the scene. The dance floor is full to overflowing; one massive, writhing sea of bodies that twists and undulates in on itself. A heavy beat thumps out of the speakers, resonates deep in Roy's belly and makes him tap his toes in time. There's the maple-sweet taste of artificial fog clinging to the air, colored lights reflecting off lingering wisps that crawl across the floor, twine around legs.

“Laurel texted,” Tommy shouts close to Roy's ear, holds out his phone so he can read the message on the screen.

** From Laurel:  
-Running late, but we'll be there soon. Save me a dance! **

Dipping his chin in acknowledgment, Roy lets his eyes sweep back out to dance floor, relaxing a bit now that he knows he has more time. He was reluctant to come at all tonight, knowing it's his family's way of telling him he needs to date more. 

It isn't his fault that he works long hours, or that he likes to spend his free time with family and friends rather than out chasing girls. He just isn't interested in dating anyone, not really. Roy is comfortable with his life, just the way it was, and doesn't see a point in upsetting the balance. If he happens to meet the right girl he'd be more than willing to pursue it, but so far he hasn't met anyone that triggered that desire.

Sara and Laurel, on the other hand, apparently have a friend they want him to meet; a girl Laurel met at work and who Sara has deemed so perfect for Roy it's “a major fuck up on the universe's part” that they haven't met yet. He isn't so sure about that, knowing Sara's predilection for trying to set him up with every cute girl she comes across, but he agreed when Oliver vouched for her.

“I know Felicity,” Oliver had grinned when Roy complained about yet another setup. “She's great. Sara's right, you'll love her.”

So, at Oliver's not so subtle urging, Roy caved to Sara's pleading. It couldn't hurt to just meet this girl, after all. He could spend one night making nice with the friend of his friend. It wouldn't be that difficult to have a few drinks, dance a dance or two just for show, and play the part his family wanted to see him play. 

Hell, he might even make a new friend out of the deal.

“I'm gonna make a circuit,” Roy calls over the music, nudging Oliver's shoulder lightly. “I'll be back.”

Oliver and Tommy both nod, attention shifting back to one another almost before Roy has even moved to leave. Chuckling to himself, Roy heads down the length of the bar, to where a small gap in the crowd leaves enough space for him to squeeze through. 

On the other side are the stairs up to the balcony. The bouncer there, a friend of Oliver's named Digg, nods in recognition and lets Roy through the rope without issue. He takes the stairs two at a time, quickly making his way up and out of the thickest part of the crowd. There are only a handful of people on the second level, each of them sporting a green VIP bracelet along with the fluorescent, stylized capital V stamped on the back of their hands. 

Drink still in hand, Roy leans against the railing with his elbows and surveys the dance floor below. He sips distractedly at his rum and coke, listening to the thumping music pouring over the crowd, trying to decide if he has enough alcohol in his system to go down and join them. He's close to a decision when the lights shift and his gaze catches on something that sways him very firmly into the latter.

There's a girl dancing alone on one side of the floor, closest to a huge set of speakers. Her blonde hair is piled high and messy on top of her head, long tendrils falling out and curling around her face and shoulders, thick-framed glasses perched on the slope of her nose. She's not dressed like most girls would be to go clubbing, in a long sleeved black mini-dress that hugs her curves and cuts off high on her thighs. The dress is backless, scooped way down low to show off the graceful dip of her spine. It's the neon pink low-top Chucks that really throw him, though. Roy's not sure he's ever seen a girl in a club wearing flats, much less a pair of beat up All Stars. 

Blowing out a deep breath then tossing back the rest of his drink, Roy sets his glass on an empty table nearby and heads for the stairs. It takes him a few minutes to push his way through the densely packed dance floor, but he manages it. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears by the time he reaches her, rivaling the bass of whatever club mix the DJ is spinning.

Even in the pulsing show lighting, Roy can tells the girl is breathtakingly beautiful. This close he can see the fullness of her plush mouth, painted bright pink, a different shade than her shoes. Her skin in flawless porcelain stained rosy red at her cheeks and cast in a cascade of hues when the lights above catch it. 

Roy inches closer, waiting for her to notice him and decide if she wants to let him near her. She's lost in a world all her own though, dancing to a beat Roy's not even sure matches the one playing. She moves in sinuous waves, each movement fluid and smooth from her head to her toes. The roll of her hips is hypnotic, every sway and swish making Roy's body ache to respond. 

She turns, eyes finding his in the flickering lights, and Roy feels her gaze like a kick to the sternum. Her eyes are wide and dark and bottomless as they drink him in, and he's pretty sure he's drowning when she smiles at him, just this side of shy. She holds out a hand, waggling her fingers like she wants him to take it. 

When he slips his hand into hers his skin lights up like a midnight runway. He's not even sure he's breathing, that his heart is beating, when she steps into his space, guides their linked hands to her hip and wraps her free arm around his neck. She's a good deal shorter than him, but that doesn't stop her from throwing an arm around his neck. Her fingers splay wide at the base of his skull, in his hair, one perfect eyebrow hiked like she's daring him.

Roy uses the hand at her hip to pull her closer, slides it around her until his fingertips scorch the bare skin of her lower back. She grins, pleased, and hitches her hips forward into his. They're pressed together like lovers in the middle of a packed floor, but Roy can't seem to make his body move. He hadn't thought this through, not beyond getting close to her. He realizes he's going to have to actually dance now and he's horrified by not having thought of that sooner. He might be able to make it work if he can just make his damn limbs do what he says, but he's frozen by her touch even as blood pours like lava through his veins.

“Don't freak out,” she shouts beside his ear, like can she can feel the panic welling up inside him, pushing him to run. “Just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

She pulls back to look him in the eye and Roy's suddenly drowning again. He nods, tightens his grip on her hip and licks his lips. She beams at him, shifts so she's plastered against his chest with one hand curled around his hip. Her lifted eyebrows ask if he's ready and Roy can only nod his assent.

When her body rolls into his, Roy can't help but gasp. The hand at his hip urges him to move with her and Roy does his best to answer the call. He knows how to dance, spent most of his teenage years in this very club, but if she's willing to show him how they can move together, he's not going to object. He lets her guide him at her own pace, fumbles a little just to watch the way it makes a smile curl her lips. 

She doesn't break eye contact the entire time they dance, and Roy is positive he couldn't look away if he wanted to. Her gaze feels like it's looking right through him, straight to the place behind his ribs that echoes with his pounding heartbeat. He's lost in those wide, pale eyes; mesmerized by the way they change color with the lights dancing overhead.

Soon enough they've slipped into a seamless rhythm and Roy knows she knows he was bluffing. She doesn't call him on it, just steps up her game. She parts her legs, lets him fit one thigh between them and rocks her pelvis firmly against his hip. He's thankful for the music, glad that it conceals the growl that rumbles in his chest. 

With both of her arms around his neck, Roy can't breathe without inhaling her scent; a mix of clean sweat and something that reminds him of summer nights. Every inhale pulls her deeper into his lungs and makes his head spin, clouds his mind with thoughts of what-if.

She's not helping him clear his fogged mind either, not when she keeps running her nose along the cords of his neck, nipping playfully at the edge of his jaw and damn near panting in his ear. He's hard as a rock behind his zipper but she just grinds closer, uses her hip and thigh to give him the perfectly torturous amount of friction to make his entire body flame.

She turns in his arms when the song changes, fits her ass into the cradle of his pelvis and pulls his arms around her so he has no choice but to plaster himself against her back. She guides his hands low on her belly and rolls her hips back. He can't help the groan that trips from his lips anymore than he can control the way his fingers spasm against her stomach, dig ever so slightly into the soft flesh beneath them. Her head tips back onto his shoulder and Roy buries his nose below her ear, lets his lips press teasingly against the thin skin there. She shivers in his arms, gasping, and that's his new favorite sound. 

Roy is just contemplating asking her to have a drink with him, maybe see where the night takes them, when she sighs in what could be either annoyance or frustration and pulls out of his arms. He frowns, suddenly feeling inexplicably bereft, and watches her pull a cellphone from the high neckline of her dress. It makes him smile for some reason, but it fades quickly when she glances up at him, eyes apologetic.

She leans into him, lips practically against his ear. “I'm sorry, but I have to go. Catch you later?” 

She's gone before he can respond, swallowed up by the horde of dancers Roy forgot were even there. He doesn't want to examine too closely the fact that his chest hurts, his arms aching to have her back in them.

It takes more effort than he cares to admit to shake off the sudden swell of disappointment. He manages it after a minute spent staring at the spot where she slipped into the throng of bodies, wondering how hard he'd have to wish for her to come back. Numbly, he shoves his way across the dance floor, back toward the bar.

Oliver and Tommy are still there, though Tommy is now behind the bar, mixing drinks with a flourish. He spots Roy before Oliver does, smiles in greeting before it slips into a concerned frown. He cocks his head in question but Roy shakes his head and forces himself to smile. Tommy isn't stupid, knows Roy better than anyone – save for Oliver – but he lets it go for now.

“Drink?” he asks as soon as Roy's within hearing distance. 

Roy nods. “Yeah, please. Strong.”

Oliver turns on his barstool, eyes assessing, questioning. “You good?”

“Fine.” Roy lies, sliding onto the seat beside him. “Just thirsty.”

Oliver isn't at all convinced and they both know it, but he dips his chin and accepts it for what it is. “The girls are here.” he tells Roy, and the way he says it sounds like he's hoping it'll cheer him up. “Said they'd find us.”

To be honest, Roy sort of forgot they were supposed to be hanging out with the girls tonight. More than that, he forgot he was supposed to be meeting their friend Felicity in a pseudo-setup. He feels a stab of guilt that he's pining over a nameless girl when he's supposed to be meeting someone else, but he can't bring himself to stop thinking about her; the blonde dancer who stole his breath with a flash of her eyes and the sway of her hips.

“Great.” Roy sips from the glass Tommy eases in front of him, relishes the warmth that floods his stomach, stifling the empty feeling trying to take root. “Sounds good.”

 

*

 

It's half an hour later and Roy is three drinks deep by the time Sara comes barreling out of the crowd toward them. She's towing Laurel along behind her, their fingers laced together so they don't lose each other in the crowd. 

“Three Jaeger bombs, barkeep.” Sara shouts to Tommy after everyone has traded hellos and cheek kisses. “And a water.”

“Still or sparkling?” Tommy asks, question aimed at Laurel, who smiles gratefully.

“Sparkling.”

“On it.” Tommy grins as he sets about his task.

Oliver spins around on his seat, leaning on the bar with one elbow. “Where's your wife?”

Sara rolls her eyes fondly, waving a hand over her shoulder in the vague direction of the door. “Outside with Felicity, pretending that I don't know she's smoking without me.”

Roy is pleasantly surprised to hear that. At least if they have nothing else in common, they can share a joint and laugh off their friends' failed attempt at match making.

Turning her attention on him then, Sara grins wickedly, waggling her eyebrows at him suggestively. “You ready to meet the future mother of your children?” 

It's Roy's turn to roll his eyes. “Funny. You really should consider a job in stand-up.” His tone drips sarcasm but Sara isn't phased by it.

She blows him a kiss and reaches for the shot Tommy slides across to her. “You'll be thanking me tomorrow, Harper.” she promises before slugging it back. 

Laurel is nodding her agreement. “Felicity is perfect for you, Roy.” she assures. “But there's no pressure, okay? We're just introducing you to a friend, that's all.”

“A friend who happens to be absurdly hot and currently headed this way.” Sara announces, jerking her chin up.

Roy follows her direction, looking for Nyssa since he doesn't know what Felicity looks like. He spots Nyssa when she shoves her way free of the crowd a few feet away, reaches back to tug someone else out behind her. Roy's heart stalls when the girl stumbles free, bright pink sneakers almost tripping over themselves. But it's not until she lifts her head, looks up and catches his eye that the floor falls out from beneath him.

“She's...” He can't seem to form a coherent thought, much less remember how to word.

“Gorgeous?” Sara supplies as Nyssa and _Felicity_ get closer. “Perfect? Everything you've ever wanted in a wife?”

“Sara.” Laurel reprimands, but she's laughing. 

Roy can't really blame her. He's sure he's gaping, mouth hanging open in undiluted astonishment. He can't help it – It's _her_. 

“Hey.” Nyssa greets when she reaches them, nudging Felicity with her hip. “Guys, this is Felicity. Felicity, these assholes are Oliver, Tommy, and Roy.” she introduces everyone, gesturing at each of them in turn.

Roy's head is swimming, his brain wrapped in cotton-wool and fog. 

“Umm, hey.” Felicity gives an awkward wave, her eyes never leaving Roy's face. 

“Hey.” He knows it sounds breathy and strangled but it's the best he can do at the moment. 

“Wait,” Laurel interjects, eyes narrowed as she glances between them, “You guys know each other?”

Felicity flushes the most delicious shade of pink and Roy's groin tightens. “Sort of.” It comes out in unison and Sara – devil that she is – bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god, I'm a genius.” she cackles gleefully, hopping up to perch on the edge of the bar in triumph. 

 

*

 

They've managed to peel themselves away from the group, Sara's celebratory and self-congratulating round of shots still tingling on their tongues.

Roy leads Felicity up to the mostly deserted balcony, nodding his thanks when Digg lifts the rope with nothing but a knowing smirk. 

“So...” Felicity starts hesitantly once they've settled at a table. She's got her legs crossed, the hem of her dress riding up the length of her thigh as she bounces her foot in a show of nerves. It's an odd juxtaposition to the confidence she projected on the dance floor, the effortless sexiness that clung to her tighter than the thin fabric of her dress. The quietly shy, almost bashful air about her now is a total reversal and it throws him.

Roy is completely off-kilter, struggling to correlate the two sides of this living embodiment of his very own brand of kryptonite. He shakes his head in a mostly useless attempt to clear it. “So.” he echoes.

Felicity laughs lightly and Roy thinks he was wrong before. That laugh is definitely his new favorite sound. 

“You disappeared before I could ask your name.” he says eventually, when it becomes clear that neither of them really know where to start. 

Felicity winces. “Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Sara texted me and I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to be sort of, kind of meeting someone, and I may have panicked a little? I mean, that's pretty rude, right? Dancing like that with you when I was waiting to meet- Well, you, I guess.”

Roy snorts, rubbing at his chin with the hand not clutching his drink. “If it is, then we're both guilty.” he reasons. 

She watches him carefully, like she's searching, waiting to find something in his face. “You had fun though, right? Dancing with me, I mean. That was... It was fun?”

“I don't know if fun is the word I'd use.” Roy admits, recalling the way Felicity had fit against him. 

She smiles, a little unsure. “What word would you use then?”

Roy licks his lips, heart thudding heavily behind his ribs. A veritable thesaurus of words he's already used to describe her in his head surges to the forefront of his mind. _Breathtaking, magnificent, stunning, heart-stopping_... He could go on and on. But, she's asked about dancing with her and that requires a whole other list of words.

“Stimulating.” he finally decides, eyes meeting hers unwaveringly.

Felicity's cheeks pink prettily and Roy is once more struck by the urge to taste that blush, to chase that color with his mouth against her skin. His fingers itch to reach out and trace its path. 

“Oh.” Her voice has gone an octave higher, her eyes shining with interest when they fall to his lips.

Roy hesitates, briefly wondering if he's about to cross the line between gentlemen and jackass, but he downs the rest of his drink and leans forward on the table, elbows resting forward on its shining metal surface. The table is small enough that they're almost nose to nose with him leaning so far across, and Felicity's breath catches. Roy lets his gaze sweep over her face, dart back up to lock on the eyes he can now see are a bright, vibrant blue.

“Look, I really don't want to offend you, and if I'm being a dick or overstepping my bounds in any way feel free to slap me, or toss your drink in my face or whatever, but... Do you maybe wanna get outta here?” he asks, voice steady though his heart is pounding in his throat and his palms are slick. 

After a moment spent with her bottom lip caught between her teeth indecisively, Felicity nods. “Yeah, I think I would.”

 

*

 

Roy's apartment isn't far from the club, in the same building but two floors below Oliver and Tommy's place. It was a strategic choice on Oliver's part, moving Roy into the same building so that he could keep an eye on him. Thea lives in the building as well, on the topmost floor. Roy knows it's Oliver's way of looking out for his siblings, and he and Thea decided early on that they'd humor his protective instincts so long as Oliver respected their privacy. It's been almost five years since Roy moved in, two for Thea, and so far so good. 

“This is a really nice place.” Felicity whistles appreciatively, gaze taking in her surroundings. 

Roy notices her attention linger on the set of four abstract paintings hanging on the exposed brick wall on the far side of the living room and feels pride bubble in his chest. Each canvas is painted in gray scale, individually depicting the storm that raged within him throughout his adolescent and teenage years. There are smokey veins of color in each painting; green in the top left, blue in the top right, turquoise and red in the bottom left and right, respectively. He painted them as part of his art therapy when he was fourteen, a way to channel his grief and anger into something productive. 

He helps her slip out of her jacket, ignoring the swell of pleasure at her approval. “Thanks. My cousin, Thea, did most of the decorating.” he confesses, smiling as he remembers the way she'd argued with him about displaying his work. 

He'd been reluctant, unwilling to put something so deeply personal out there for everyone to see. He may be the only who knows for sure what the colors mean, might be the only one who understands why each bright hue streaks through the darker, mournful shades of gray, but the people most likely to see them are the people whom the colors represent and Roy had been exceedingly uncomfortable with exposing that part of himself.

Turned out Thea was right in the end, though. Having the paintings hanging in pride of place in his living space proved to be more therapeutic than traumatizing. And if Oliver, Tommy, or Thea ever made the connection between the colors and themselves, they've never said.

“Drink?” Roy asks as he gestures toward the living room, inviting Felicity to sit.

She settles onto the over-sized L-shaped sofa and nods, a small smile curving her lips. “Yes, please. Whatever you've got.”

“I'll be right back.” He hands her a black remote about the size of a deck of cards, pointing toward the sound system set up in one corner of the room. When he touches the remote its screen lights up, giving her a list of albums, artists, and songs to choose from. “My entire musical library is on there, so go nuts.”

Felicity's laughter follows him as he heads toward the kitchen, even after its faded. He can still see her from the kitchen's bar thanks to the open concept design of his apartment, but he tries not to let himself linger on her too long. He allows himself the briefest moment to appreciate the sight of her in his home and then forces himself to focus on making their drinks. 

By the time he returns to the living room Felicity has _Real_ by Years  & Years flowing out of the speakers, and she's singing along to every line. She doesn't stop when she sees he's watching, just coyly smiles her thanks and takes the drink he extends toward her.

“What is it?” she asks, eyeing the bright blue drink curiously. 

Roy sits beside her, sure to leave a little distance between their bodies so she doesn't feel crowded. “It's called an Electric Lemonade.” he informs her with a shrug. “Tommy came up with it when I was still too young to drink legally. It can pass for Kool-Aid if no one's paying too much attention. I spent many a family function happily buzzed without my aunt being any the wiser.”

Felicity laughs, lifting a brow in amusement. “Sounds like Tommy is a bit of an enabler.” 

“You have no idea.” Roy pushes himself up, stretching along the back of the couch to scoop a small wooden box from the table behind the it. “He bought me this when I turned sixteen.” he tells her, offering her the box.

She sets her drink on the coffee table and takes it, running her fingers over the pattern etched into the rich mahogany surface. Her middle finger catches on a small latch on the front of the box and she lifts her gaze back to his, asking. Roy nods and Felicity lifts the lid, snorting indelicately when she sees the contents.

The box's interior is divvied up in several sections, all roughly the same size. Tucked into each is a handful of pre-rolled joints, a lighter, the bag the joints came from, a pack of rolling papers and a small copper grinder, a blown-glass pipe the color of fresh blood, and few other odds and ends.

“Was all this stuff in here when he gave it to you, or was it just the box?” she asks, eyes bright with humor because she's sure she knows the answer.

“Right down to an already packed bowl.” Roy confirms, chuckling. “I don't think I've ever seen Oliver so helplessly amused. I think he wanted to be mad just out of principle, but Tommy was so excited he couldn't do it.”

Roy takes the box back, lifts out a joint before sliding it onto the table beside Felicity's drink. He kicks off his sneakers and rearranges his legs beneath him, is filled with warm satisfaction when Felicity does the same beside him. 

“So, Tommy wanted to be the first person you smoked with?” Felicity guesses, eyes on Roy's mouth while he holds the joint between his lips and lights it.

Roy inhales deep, glories in the way the sweet smoke fills his lungs and settles there. He nods and passes it across to her, enjoying the sparks her touch sets off in his skin. He exhales while she drags in a hit, can't help the way his eyes are drawn to her lips wrapped around the end.

“I caught him and Oliver smoking a blunt in the wine cellar when I was ten or eleven.” Roy starts, remembering. “Oliver freaked out, you know? It was the first time I'd ever really walked in on something I shouldn't have – though it definitely wasn't the last – and I think he panicked.

But Tommy... He just looked me in the eye and said, 'Not until you're sixteen, sweet cheeks. Then it is our duty and our privilege as your older brothers to get you so ridiculously high that you forget your own name.'”

Felicity giggles as she blows her hit out, thick smoke curling out of her mouth and nose. “Hence the box for your birthday.”

He takes the joint when she hands it back. “Hence the box.” he agrees, taking another drag. “Neither of them have ever gone back on their word – to me or to Thea.”

Felicity rests her head on the arm she's got propped on the back of the couch, eyes soft and liquid as she gazes at him, a delicate smile curling her lips. “That must be nice, knowing you've got people like that in your corner.”

“Yeah, it is. They saved my life, I think.” he confesses, looking away from her face when he passes back to her. “I was so angry after my parents died. I was really young, too young, but all that rage had to go somewhere. It all kind of condensed over time, built up into something I couldn't control. 

When it started to come out in these horrific displays of violence, the only ones who could get through to me were Oliver and Tommy. My aunt and uncle, even though they loved me, they had no idea how to help me. Oliver and Tommy were the ones who found ways for me to deal, to face my shit and use all that energy more appropriately. I don't know that I'd have survived this long if it weren't for them.”

He's not sure why he feels so compelled to share, why he's so comfortable telling Felicity any of this, but she's listening intently and watching him with open sincerity, and Roy knows suddenly just how much trouble he's truly in.

“Sara told me that you lost your parents and were adopted by the Queens.” she admits, reaching for the lighter on Roy's lap, flipping it between her fingers.

He thinks it's probably a compulsive habit, maybe because she's just not used to her hands being still for any real length of time. He clears his throat roughly and reaches for his drink. “They were all the family I had left.” he tells her softly.

She scoots closer, closing the distance between them until she can rest her head on his shoulder. Roy stiffens under her familiar gesture, but the tension bleeds out of him almost before it arrives. He takes the half-smoked joint when she offers it, tips his head back to take a drag so he doesn't risk dropping ash in her hair.

“My dad died when I was eight.” She says it gently, like it still hurts to say out loud. He knows it does. Even after all this time it still tears at his throat to talk about his parents. “He was in the military, died overseas. My mom... She did her best, but it was hard. I didn't have any brothers or sisters, someone to share my grief with. So, instead, I spent all of my time tinkering with computers; anything electronic, really. It was lonely, growing up that way.”

Roy's arm slides around her of its own volition, snakes around her waist and pulls her flush against his side. She doesn't hesitate to melt into him, press in close and take the conciliation he's offering her. 

“You seem to have turned out alright.” He grins when she plucks the almost-roach from between his fingers.

Felicity laughs, presses her face into his chest until he feels her glasses dig into his skin. He really can't say that he minds.

“I graduated early and ran away to college.” she tells him, takes one last hit before passing it back to him. Her voice is thick with smoke when she says, “It was easier to make friends once I found people who were more like me.”

“Nerds you mean?” Roy teases, jumping and chuckling when she pinches his ribs.

“Yes, nerds, you jackass.” she scolds, but she's laughing too. “MIT is littered with 'em.”

Roy hums his agreement as he sits forward to drop what's left of the joint into an ashtray before it can burn his fingertips. When he settles back into the couch, feeling relaxed and heavy-limbed, Felicity climbs off the couch and skips across the living room. He misses her weight against him the second she leaves, but he's mesmerized by the way her hips sway as she walks on bare legs to reach his stereo.

“Well, it has officially gotten way too serious in here for a first date.” she tosses out over her shoulder as she turns up the volume. 

Roy's lungs seize, his heart following suit. “Is that what this is?” he asks. “A date?”

The smile she sends his way is radiant, though she tries to shrug indifferently. “Could be.”

There's a sensual, bass-heavy beat pouring out of the speakers when Felicity spins in place, eyes glittering dark and mischievous as she beckons him to join her. “You faked being a horrible dancer at the club.” she chastises playfully, tone rich and sultry. “I want to see how you really move.”

Roy cocks a brow, wearing bravado like a shield against this incredible woman who just keeps sneaking up on him, slipping past his armor and all of his defenses like she's belonged there all along.

“Come on, Harper,” Felicity all but purrs, eyes daring even as she moves her hips in wicked invitation, “Show me what you've got.”

He's up and moving toward her before he even realizes it, fingertips itching with the desire to feel her beneath them once more. Felicity's eyes darken as he stalks closer, her tongue flicking out to moisten her bottom lip. He thinks he sees her draw in a shuddering breath, but he's more entranced by the way her chest rises and falls in rapid, almost nervous anticipation.

A slow, seductive grin spreads across his face when he reaches her. She has to tilt her head back to keep her eyes on his face and he doesn't miss the way she swallows, the pale column of her throat rippling with movement. 

“You're not nervous are you, Smoak?” He knows his voice has gone several notches deeper than normal, but there's a hunger scorching his chest that he doesn't know how to curb, and it's the best he can manage.

Felicity's pupils eat up almost all the blue around them, turning her eyes into wide, endless pools Roy aches to drown in. She's staring up at him with barely concealed desire when she reaches for him, pulls him in by the loops of his jeans and fits them together like puzzle pieces. 

“Not the word I'd use.” she breathes, leaning into him. The move pushes her breasts flush against his chest and Roy has to bite back a moan, his hands gripping her tight by the hips. “Now, shut up and dance with me.”

Roy sucks a breath between his teeth, feeling her words like a physical blow. He'd stumble back if they weren't holding onto one another so tightly, he's sure of it. But, her hands have made their way from his belt loops to his shoulders, sliding up to curl around the back of his neck, and he just shifts further forward instead of away. His hands fit perfectly into the dip of her lower back, her skin naked and burning beneath them, sending sparks of electricity crackling up his arms.

Felicity starts to move, rolling her body against his in smooth undulations that call up images of the sea; powerful, self-contained waves that crash over him, into him, steal the breath right out of his lungs. Roy knows better than to try to match her, knows he couldn't if he were naïve enough to try, so he just holds on and tries to keep up.

Felicity dances like she's been doing it her whole life, like she's more comfortable in constant motion than she is sitting still. The slow, sensual movements of her body are intoxicating. She's radiating confidence and contentment as they move together, hips rocking together and apart teasingly, hands seeking, gripping where they can.

“You're not half-bad.” she observes, not bothering to play bashful and look at him through the dark fan of her lashes. She turns the full force of her gaze on him, lifts her chin in challenge and grins. 

Something wild rears up in Roy's chest in response to the honest, carnal appreciation in her eyes. It floods his bloodstream with heat, rumbles in the cavern of his chest until the sound reaches his lips and any trace of hesitation is swiftly erased from his mind. 

“I can do better.” he promises darkly, savoring the tiny gasp she lets out when he pulls her impossibly closer, slides one hand into her hair and molds his lips over hers.

Felicity blooms to life under his kiss, surges up to meet him and twists her fingers in the short hairs at the base of his skull, urging him on. He's happy to comply, sighs into it when her lips part and he can slip inside. She tastes like the lemon-lime soda he used as a mixer, a trace of smoke on her tongue as she tangles it with his.

Pure, unadulterated lust unfurls low in Roy's stomach. He uses his body to nudge her backward, toward the sofa, but Felicity breaks the kiss to shake her head. She's panting, her glasses bearing smudges and sitting slightly askew on the bridge of her nose. Her hair is falling around her face in loose spirals, his fingers having loosened the pins holding it in place, but she's flushed that decadent shade of pink again, her lips just beginning to swell, and Roy knows he's lost. 

God, but he's never wanted to be so lost.

He's so distracted just looking at her, drinking her in, that he almost misses it when she murmurs, “Not the couch.”

He blinks several times in lazy succession before her words sink in, hit him square in the gut and make his head swim. “Okay.” 

“Bedroom?” 

The single word is soft but packed full of promise, and Roy's heart stutters in his chest. He grins, knows it's probably edged with deviant delight, but Felicity just smirks back, kohl-rimmed eyes bright and clear. Roy laces their fingers together, lifts them to his lips and lightly kisses her knuckles. If possible, her blush deepens.

“Come on.” 

His bedroom is tucked away in the very back of the apartment, past the guest bedroom and guest bath. Felicity follows him down the hall, her socks slippery on the hardwood floor. She giggles every time she slides, clings to Roy's arm so she won't fall. His chest hurts with every breathless laugh tripping from her lips, something buried deep behind his heart knotting up and flipping over.

He's not sure why he's holding his breath when he pushes open the door to his bedroom, flicks the light switch and steps aside to let her precede him. There have been women in here before; women who have spent the night, spent a weekend or two rolling around in his bed, but no one like Felicity has ever been inside this space. No one who could set his blood ablaze with nothing but a look, who could quench the burn with her lips just to coax it higher with her tongue. 

There have been women in this room, in this bed, but none of them were her.

“Your cousin decorate in here, too?” Felicity asks, quirking a brow and walking backward toward the bed, pulling him along with her by the buckle of his belt.

He lets his hands trail down the slope of her sides, the full swell of her hips. “Nope, this is all me.”

She hums – he's not sure if it's in approval or mocking but he doesn't really think it matters either way. She doesn't have to like the décor, so long as she likes him enough to stay.

They stop at the foot of the bed, the backs of Felicity's thighs just barely brushing the bottom of his bedspread where it hangs over the edge. Her hands are resting on either side of his neck, thumbs working gentle circles beneath the hinge of his jaw, and Roy can feel it in his toes. He's flexes them against the thick carpet beneath his feet, resists the urge to sway forward into her touch.

“Remind me to thank Sara, will you?” Felicity mutters distractedly, one of her thumbs moving to trace the line of his bottom lip. Roy hefts a brow at her, but she just smiles a little and shrugs. “She finally got one right.”

Something inside him breaks, swells and bursts and before he knows it he's hauling Felicity up by her thighs and laying her back on his bed. She's eager beneath him when he kneels above her, wraps her legs around his waist and pulls his full wight down between them. Her hands are back in his hair, pulling sharply just to hear the surprised sound vibrate in his throat. She relishes in the moan he deposits on her tongue, swallows it down and answers with one of her own. 

Roy rocks into the V of her thighs, finds a bit of relief in the friction of his trapped erection against her panty-clad core. He pulls her harder against him, one hand spread wide, kneading her thigh beneath the high hem of her dress. Felicity gasps, throws her head back, exposing the long line of her throat. His hand is buried in her silken strands before he even thinks about it, tugging her head to one side so he can mouth at the edge of her jaw, the thin skin beneath it and the line where her dress meets her throat.

He nuzzles her throat, drags his nose up from throat to jaw, finds her mouth once more and claims it. Felicity writhes beneath him, finger scrabbling at the back of his shirt, tugging it up until she finds skin. Her touch ignites something buried deep, deep inside, has his cock throbbing between them, leaking wet and sticky inside his jeans.

“Felicity.” He doesn't mean to say it, doesn't mean for it to sound so desperate and needy, but there's something about her touch, her body pinned beneath him, pushing against him, that he can't seem to control the words, the sounds falling from his lips without permission.

The overwhelming urge to taste her, really taste her, crashes through him, makes his mouth water with the desire. He shifts down her body, lets her pull his shirt over his head while he's busy trailing kisses and gentle bites down her throat, over her breasts through the fabric of her dress. She's not wearing a bra, her nipples jutting up proud and needy against the thin, thin cotton. Roy lavishes them with attention, first one and then the other, until Felicity is whimpering under him, rutting her hips against his hip to find some kind of relief.

There's tension bleeding out of every line of her body, her muscles quivering with the need for release, but Roy takes his time. He eases her dress up over her hips, lets the hem sit just above the dip of her navel while he licks into it. 

“Oh god, please.” 

He smiles into her belly, nuzzles the soft roundness, litters kisses from her bellybutton to her hip bone. Felicity arches beneath him, pushes her body up in a hard curve when he dips his fingers into the waist of her panties and pulls. 

She's spread out below him, naked and needy, but it doesn't stay that way for long. Felicity uses her legs, one on either side of his ribcage, to flip their positions. She grins her triumph down at him when he's sprawled on his back beneath her, her cheeks bright with pleasure, eyes burning.

“I never was one to just lay back and enjoy the ride.” The way she says it makes Roy's cock jerk with interest, his stomach swoop down toward his feet.

“Who am I to argue with that?” he rumbles, watching her intently as she crawls up his body, every movement fluid, purposeful. 

Felicity settles on his chest, her knees pinning his shoulders to the mattress, toes tucked under his sides. She grasps the hem of her dress where it's resting at her waist, lifts the garment up and off, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Roy swallows hard, eyes drinking in the shape of her, all soft curves and supple lines. 

“You're so fucking beautiful, Felicity.” he murmurs, curling his hands around the tops of her thighs, the only part of her he can reach with the way she's holding him down.

Her smile is sharp, almost predatory, when she leans over him; plants one hand on the side of his head, skims the other down her belly toward the apex of her thighs. She's already wet and her fingers glide smoothly between her lips, dip inside just to slide back out. Roy groans in frustration, watches, enraptured, while she plays with her pussy above him, just out of his reach.

“You want a taste?” she teases, sinking fingers deep inside herself. “Want to know what I taste like, Roy? See if I'm as sweet here,” She withdraws her fingers slowly, rubs them over her clit before lifting them to her mouth, “As I am, here?”

It's a miracle he doesn't come right then, watching her lick a long line up the length of her middle finger. She smirks like she knows how much he's dripping inside his boxer-briefs.

“Please.” He almost doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice, the crackle of it when he begs. “Felicity, _please_.”

He sucks her fingers in greedily when she offers them, skims them over his lips before she lets him pull them in deep. He moans around them, swirling his tongue between them. He doesn't want to miss one delicious ounce of the sweet, heady taste of her. She lets him suck to his hearts content, only pulls back when he's struggling not to fuck up into empty air behind her.

“How about a taste right from the source?” she offers, scooting forward until she can plant her knees on either side of his head, hovering above his mouth, still just a little too far to taste. 

It's then that he realizes he can use his arms again. He wraps them around her thighs, hands spreading her open as he pulls her down on his face. It's worth it to hear the deep moan rip from her chest when his mouth is finally on her, his tongue finding her clit with unerring accuracy.

“Fuck.” She hisses it, hips jerking forward like she can't help it. 

She grips his hair like she's holding on for dear life, rolls her body down while he fucks into her with his tongue. His fingertips are probably going to leave bruises in the pale porcelain of her thighs, maybe even the pattern of his fingerprints he's clutching them so tight, but neither of them care.

Roy licks into her, laves her lips and clit with his tongue until she's panting above him, her thighs clenching on either side of his head.

“Close, so fucking close.” 

It comes out more whine than anything, and she's a shuddering, vibrating mess, but Roy slows his ministrations. He laps at her sex with agonizing patience, each stroke of his tongue lazy and torturous. Felicity grinds down on his face, searching desperately for the release she's hovering so close to.

“Don't tease me-”

Roy cuts her off by latching onto her clit with his lips, sucking hard and lashing his tongue against the pulsing little nub. Felicity gurgles, words dying in her throat as she comes, body exploding above him. He holds her trembling thighs and mouths at her pussy while she cries out, fists clenching in his hair almost painfully, fisting the fabric of his bedspread so hard he thinks he hears threads pop. 

When she comes down, Roy feels it the moment her body goes limp. He flips them back over roughly, grins dangerously at the surprised squeal she lets out. He's achingly hard, his cock feeling abused and ignored, but he fuses his mouth to hers regardless, slips into her mouth and lets her suck her own taste off his tongue.

He pulls back, kneels above her to take her in. She's dazed and replete, her hair a mess and her glasses crooked on her nose. Roy takes them off, tosses them on the nightstand beside the bed before returning to her. Her satiated smile makes his heart stutter, and he can't resist kissing her again, this time slowly, passionately.

She's still shivering with her release but she responds with equal fervor. She clutches at his back, his shoulder blades, nails trailing over his skin, making him groan. He's staggered by how badly he wants her, wants to be inside her, wants to just be with her, and it makes him screw his eyes shut; bury his face in the slope of her neck and just breathe.

“You okay?” It's nothing more than a whisper, a barely audible exhalation, but it reverberates in his bones.

“I'm good,” he promises, presses kisses into her collarbone, “Just really, really want bury myself inside you.”

“Who's stopping you?” she asks, and he can hear the smirk in her tone. 

He lifts himself up, gazes down at her in awe. “You are absolutely incredible, Felicity Smoak.” 

It's a benediction, the way he says her name, and her eyes glitter with pleasure. “You're not so bad yourself, Roy Harper.” She skims her hands down his naked back, finds his ass and squeezes through his jeans. “Now, get these off and fuck me.”

No idea in the history of the world has ever sounded better. He gives her one more hard, claiming kiss before he digs around inside his nightstand for a condom. He's back to her in a blink, getting his belt open and shoving his jeans down his hips with her assistance. Felicity is giggling as she helps him kick them down his legs, the sound flooding his chest with warmth as he settles back above her.

As soon as the condom is rolled down his length, Roy wraps a hand around his cock and lines up, just barely nudging her entrance with his head. Felicity wriggles and whines beneath him, lifting her hips in offering. He sinks into her in one long, gliding stroke, her body gripping him like he belongs inside her. Felicity buries her face in his throat while he's buried in her. She's rocking her pelvis in tight, seeking circles, and Roy has to clutch her hip to still her.

“This is going to be over way too soon if you keep doing that.” 

Felicity stills, busies herself biting and sucking at his throat instead, whispering dirtily into his skin while she does. 

It takes a few minutes but he manages to tighten the reign on himself and starts to move. Felicity moans when he pulls out, pushes back into her just as slowly as the first time. He takes his time, sets a leisurely pace that drives them both to the edge of sanity. Her walls flutter around him with each stroke, trying to pull him back in each time he slips out. Gradually, he increases his tempo, starts fucking into her with short, sharp snaps of his hips that punch whines right out of her throat.

She doesn't even seem to notice when she starts chanting his name, curse and praise in equal measure. Roy does though, revels in his name falling from her lips in a tide of pleasure. It's a powerful feeling, knowing he's the one that brought her here, to the point where she's writhing and falling apart beneath him, scratching marks into his back while she holds onto him with her thighs, meeting him thrust for thrust. 

They devolve into frenzied, uncoordinated movements, Felicity keening loud and long while Roy plows into her, sets his forearms to either side of her head and fucks her through the mattress. She grinds her clit into his pubic bone, hands gripping the globes of his ass for leverage. When she comes again it's like a full-blown detonation, her body rippling and shaking with the force of it. She bites his shoulder to muffle the scream tearing from her chest, and Roy looses whatever thread of restraint he was holding onto. 

It doesn't take more than a handful of desperate, pounding thrusts to have him tumbling after her, coming with a rumble in his chest that might be her name, buried deep inside her scorching, clutching heat.

She doesn't release him, just rolls with him when he shifts, so she's sprawled across his chest. He manages to lift her enough that he can slip out of her, smiling a little at the way she shivers. She settles right back down against him, coherent enough to rearrange her limbs into something more comfortable, but nothing beyond that. Roy quickly divests himself of the condom, knot it off and drop it beside the bed. 

He's not faring much better than Felicity, feeling as though all of his bones have dissolved into warm, liquid gold. “Do you want to clean up?” he mumbles, face half pressed into her hair. He doesn't think he can move if she says yes, but he'll make it work somehow. For her, he'll make it work.

Felicity grunts her objection to having to move, nuzzles deeper into his chest and pins him in place with her weight above him. Roy chuckles but doesn't try to dislodge her, just uses what strength he can muster to pull the blanket at the bottom of the bed up to cover them. Felicity hums contentedly when he tucks the soft, woven fabric around her shoulders, presses her nose into the shallow dip between his pecks and rasps a kiss there.

Roy settles in, basking in the pleasant heat of her body over his, their legs tangled together, and closes his eyes. He listens to her deep, even breathing as she slips slowly into sleep, and lets the soothing sound of it drag him under too.

 

*

 

There's sunshine pouring in through the open curtains when Roy stirs awake. It's a slow climb out from the depths of his thoroughly fucked-out state, but he knows there's someone waiting for him if he can manage it. He stretches lazily, feeling the bone-deep satisfaction that comes from a night spent chasing orgasms. He can't stop the grin that curls his lips, remembering how Felicity had reached for him during the night, the way she sucked him into her mouth with sleepy contentment and then rode him, slow and languid. 

Roy rolls over, stretching out in search of her warmth, but finds the sheets beside him are cold. Frowning, he lifts his head from the pillows only to squint against the bright intrusion of the sun. 

“Hey.” 

Roy startles a little, jerking around to find Felicity standing in his bedroom doorway. She's wearing nothing but his button-up, unbuttoned to the very tops of her breasts, and her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. His gut clenches with desire, but his chest tightens with something else altogether.

“Hey.” he whispers.

Felicity strides across the room, two large mugs of what smells like coffee in her hands, but desire burning bright in her eyes. “I made coffee. Figured we could use the energy.” she says it causally, but there's a suggestive quirk to her mouth and Roy is sucker-punched by the need to taste it. 

She lets him take both mugs from her and set them on the nightstand. “I could make breakfast if you want. I checked, you have the stuff for pancakes. Or I could make eg-” 

She squeaks in surprise and then dissolves into giggles when Roy lifts her onto the bed, pulls her across his lap and kisses her soundly on the mouth. She beams up at him when he releases her, looking like beauty personified even though her make-up is smudged and a day old.

“No pancakes?” she asks, voice low and breathless.

Roy rolls them over, gets her back beneath him and nuzzles into her throat. “I was hoping something else might be on the menu.” he murmurs, hand slinking up the bare expanse of her thigh.

Felicity's laughter morphs into moans when his hand dips under the hem of her borrowed shirt, his fingers teasing at her already slick entrance before plunging inside.

 

*

 

They do end up having pancakes – It turns into a tradition, Felicity making them on the morning of their anniversary, every year after that.


End file.
